Worth The Shot

The Collapse of a World

Today's fanart is by @shay.nou3I ! They're also on instagram with that name! They drew the scene where Camilo catches (y/n) stealing the candle. I LOVE how fluffy his hair looks, and doesn't the background look so realistic???

BACK TO THE STORY

His next words pulled from your heart like a long, serrated thorn:

"Tell me your name, señorita."

No. This can't be right. He remembered me before!

"If you're joking, it's not funny," you scolded, but your lighthearted attempt was breathy and scared. "My heart's beating too fast, so cut it out."

"Your heart's beating fast?" Camilo neatly winked, narrowing his left eye to a slit. "That's because of me, don't worry about it."

"Camilo," you slowly pleaded, fear thudding in your chest. "You know me. You know me."

"No, I don't," Camilo apologized, his lips quirking into a puzzled half-smile.

You'd tried to imagine the collapse of the mountain Encanto before. You'd pictured yourself terrified and trapped, sprinting as chunks of stone and scrabbling pebbles loomed from the falling ceiling. They would explode into sharp, dusty shards, choking you as they crashed all around like rain. The death of the village. The end of the world. You'd imagined apocalypses. But you could have never imagined this sinking feeling, as if your lungs and heart dropped like lifeless rocks.

"Oh." The single syllable bled from your mouth, like an involuntary gasp of pain.

"You good?" Camilo gently asked, confused concern replacing his flirtations.

"Move," a voice impatiently hissed from behind. "You're blocking the stage."

"It's okay, sit down for a second," Camilo smiled reassuringly, his cold hand pressed against your back as he helped you down.

No, it's not. You can't remember me, and I'm still in desperately in love with you. How is that okay?

But you numbly nodded, sinking next to Camilo into the plush carpet of grass. Your flowy yellow dress fanned around you, a perfect spill of banana pudding on the green. The ruffles crinkled like tissue paper.

Bruno's play continued. The sunset beamed. The grass flickered in the soft breeze. Funny how you'd just lost everything, and the world callously ignored it.

The rumbling laughter of the audience jarred you. Bruno's swingy melodies sang from underwater. They seemed disjointed, out of place in the soundtrack of Camilo's hand carelessly compressing your heart.

I can fix this. The desperate thought rattled through your mind, engraving grooves as it repeated over and over.

What could you tell Camilo? How would he receive you, this ghost of an unknown lover flinging herself at his mercy? You could try to explain. But no words could weave the awestruck majesty of your whispers under the stars. No paintbrush could sweep the wildly blinding colors of love, betrayal, forgiveness.

And Camilo's hand relaxed on the grass, a twitch of a muscle away from yours. You could have seized his lightly freckled, tan fingers in yours. But they would have sifted through like sand, untouchable as moonlight. Strangers don't hold hands with strangers.